Bless the Bride

All the denominations out there competing to save poor Chinese souls. It’s pitiful really. They lure the young men in with the offer of English language lessons and then they start preaching at them.” She chuckled. “Of course the Chinese aren’t stupid. They take the language classes and slip out before the sermon starts.”
    “You presumably know the various missions around here. Can you suggest where I should start?”
    “You can’t do much better than start with Miss Helen Clark. If any girl’s been wandering the streets, Miss Clark will have snapped her up—interfering, do-gooding busybody that she is. Always poking her nose where it’s not wanted.”
    I had to smile at her sudden outburst of anger.
    “It may be unchristian of me to speak like that of someone who thinks she’s doing the Lord’s work, but she’s caused a lot of trouble. If she spots a child out on the street, she assumes it’s a slave and she kidnaps it, making it go to her classes. And if she hears of a white woman marrying a Chinaman, she’ll try to break up the union.”
    She paused to take a gulp of tea and I nodded with understanding before she put the cup down firmly and added, “And she tries to come into Chinese homes to instruct their occupants on Christian living—the nerve of it. She tried to get in here once. I’m a good Catholic, I said, and so is my man and my children have been baptized at the Church of the Transfiguration across the street, so we need none of your help to get to heaven, thank you.”
    “And where would I find this Miss Clark?” I asked.
    “If she’s not out prowling the streets, she’s got her school at 21 Mott, just down the street. Of course it’s still summer vacation, so she may not be giving classes. If she’s not there, you can always try the Morning Star Mission on Doyers, or there’s the Evangelical Band at 4 Mott—but that’s mainly just a Sunday school.”
    “Do you think any of these might have taken in a Chinese woman if she’d come to them?”
    She frowned. “I’ve never heard of them having beds to offer. It’s just the hall and a little room for making tea. But you could try the Rescue Mission also on Doyers. They try to rescue fallen white women, but I don’t suppose they’d say no to a Chinese girl if they thought she was some kind of slave.”
    “Rescue Mission on Doyers,” I muttered. “Thank you. You’ve given me plenty to start with. And if I wanted to check with the police, would it be at headquarters on Mullberry?”
    “No, dearie. We’re in the Sixth Precinct here. The police station’s on Elizabeth, just up from Canal.”
    “Then I should be going,” I said. “Thank you for the tea and the chat.”
    “Come back anytime,” she said, eyeing me wistfully. “I’d love to talk more about the old country, although it was a hard life, wasn’t it? Never enough to eat.”
    “It was,” I agreed.
    “So all in all we’re better off here.” She said it as if she was trying to convince herself, not me.

Nine
     
     
     
    I took my leave, promising to return and having extracted a promise from her not to say anything about my commission in case it got back to the ears of Lee Sing Tai. Noting the ease with which she liked to gossip, I couldn’t be sure that she’d keep to it. There was no sign of Frederick Lee when I came out into Mott Street, but a vendor’s cart was standing at the curb nearby selling vegetables to a line of Chinese men and a couple of half-caste children. Even the vegetables in the basket looked strange—beans as long as my forearm, huge hairy cannonballs (God knows what they were), and tiny little white sprouts. The vendor was a fellow Chinese and was certainly doing a lively trade.
    I picked my way past the fresh horse manure and looked for 21 Mott and Miss Clark. I found her in a bare upstairs room, lined with rows of benches, supervising a couple of little half-Chinese girls as they put out hymn books. She was quite the opposite of what I had expected—although no longer young, she was beautiful and elegantly dressed. No wonder she could lure those poor woman-starved Chinese men into services on Sundays. She looked at me with surprise and suspicion until I explained the reason for my visit. Then a smile spread across that lovely face. “So you’re doing the Lord’s work too—trying to save poor girls from a life of degradation. God bless you, my dear.”
    I didn’t like to say that my employer wasn’t the Lord but